


Marks

by WetSammyWinchester



Series: 2017 Kink Bingo Fills [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Smut, Blow Jobs, Episode: s08e01 We Need to Talk About Kevin, Guilty Sam Winchester, Jealous Dean Winchester, M/M, Mirror Sex, Post-Purgatory Dean Winchester, Tattoos, because damn these two should have worked this out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 19:57:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11996880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WetSammyWinchester/pseuds/WetSammyWinchester
Summary: Dean's back from Purgatory and Sam is distant. Could be the girl Sam met while Dean was gone. Could be he doesn't feel the same since Dean isn't the same. Or could be something else.





	Marks

**Author's Note:**

> Written for spnkinkbingo prompt tattoos and for Wincest Writing Challenge Richard Siken prompt of _Here I am leaving you clues._
> 
> Thanks to [anotherwinchesterfangirl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherwinchesterfangirl/pseuds/anotherwinchesterfangirl) for her thoughts on this - you complete me.

_So, this is it,_ he thought, sipping his beer, staring out the window. _This is what I fought to get back to._

The quiet sounds of the shower fill the motel room and Dean glances over his shoulder at the sliver of light from the open bathroom door. The room around him is dark - each night Dean turns off the lights as soon as Sam retreats to the bathroom. After the deep darkness of Purgatory, the sixty-watt bulbs that shine overhead are too bright and leave him too exposed. He turns back to the window and scrubs a hand through his hair, and wonders about Benny down in Louisiana, whether he feels as unsettled as Dean with nothing to fight. 

He sips his beer again and rolls his shoulders to release the tension. The drive from Laramie to Sioux City was nine hours of nothing rolling by with Sam sitting mute and withdrawn at his side. His brother is different now. His hair is too long and skin too tan from the Texas sun. His hunting instincts have gone soft in the past year while Dean's have been honed razor sharp. 

Another thing they need to work on.

Each day, the two of them sit side by side in the Impala like strangers. When the sun goes down and the car rolls to a stop, they circle each other without touching, grabbing their duffels, one heading for food, one for the bathroom, before retreating to their own beds, grunting out a soft good night before they fall asleep.

He battled for a year to get here, and now that he's back, he's only a warm presence on the outskirts of Sam's periphery. A moon circling, held tight by gravity, unable to move closer, unable to move away. 

Whoever the girl in Texas is, whatever she meant to Sam, it’ll fade and they’ll go back to the way things were. Dean has to believe that.

He studies the reflection of the bathroom light on the window pane and a flicker of shadow gets his attention. He turns and sets his beer down on the table, and steps closer to the doorway, one green eye gleaming in the dark, and feels that familiar heat in his gut from watching Sam. His brother has always been self conscious, memories of being a skinny teenager never far from the surface. He doesn’t know how beautiful he is, so Dean steals glances whenever he can. 

Inside the bathroom, Sam wraps a towel around his waist. His shoulders are still glistening wet from the shower, and his dark hair clings damp to his neck. Sam looks soft and clean, and Dean’s eyes darken. He wants to step up behind him and lick each drop of water, to touch that fresh pink skin.

Unaware of the eyes on him, Sam twists in front of the steam-edged mirror and the black of his anti-possession tattoo stands out on the flat of his pec. Dean remembers the day they got the tats, the sun coming through the shop window and the hiss of Sam's breath when the needle first broke his skin.

The towel slips on Sam's hips and he clutches it with his fingers, and the corners of Dean's mouth turn up. Cheap motels and cheap towels and a clumsy little brother. Good to know that some things never change. His smile disappears as Dean sees another tattoo further down on Sam's abs, loops of black ink nestled inside the cut of his brother's hipbone.

New ink. Ink that was meant for someone else.

The bathroom door slams open under his palm and Sam's eyes startle wide as the small bathroom fills with Dean.

“What?” Sam tries to push out of the room, confused by his brother's anger, but Dean pens him in and their eyes meet in the mirror.

The smell of shampoo and Ivory soap on Sam's skin blocks out the scent of ash and sulfur that Dean can’t seem to shake. As he presses against Sam's back and tilts him towards the mirror, Sam is suddenly docile and a blush rises on his cheek and chest that causes Dean to remember the Before, back when he was able to reach out and touch whenever he wanted.

“I think you know.” His fingers slide under the towel and press on the new tattoo, gripping Sam's hip. “Is this because of the girl?”

Sam tries to jerks away at that last word, but Dean wraps his arm around Sam's shoulder. He grabs his jaw and pull him back so their eyes meet in the mirror. The only sound is the towel slipping to the floor between them.

“No.”

Dean's eyes are drawn down to the marks that are not his. Two symbols he doesn't recognize are entwined, dark on the pale pink of Sam's hip. “Then explain.”

His fingers stroke the spot and a low moan builds behind Sam’s closed lips. When Sam doesn't answer, he squeezes skin against bone.

“Answer me, Sam.”

“It's not what you think.”

The intimate proximity after so many days of frustration is intoxicating, and Dean drops his hand to Sam's chest so his fingers are spread over the other tattoo - _their tattoo_.

“The witch said it would help to focus my energies.” Sam squirms under Dean's hand. “I thought if I could just use my powers, or whatever was left of them--”

Dean's stomach twists at the thought of what Sam might have done and their eyes meet again. Sam is now the one who is raw and on edge.

“I thought that maybe I could find you.”

Dean turns Sam to face him, bending him back against the counter, and kisses him rough and thoughtless, sucking his bottom lip until Sam makes a noise of pain. When Sam pulls back to explain more, Dean sinks his fingers in the long curls on his neck and yanks him back in.

The Sam from Before would fight him for control. This Sam simply falls into place and Dean feels anger building, at Dick Roman, at Purgatory, at this girl, but mainly at himself.

Once again, he was gone and Sam is broken.

He grabs Sam's hips and grinds against him, rough denim against naked skin. Sam's cock is full and flushed from the friction and Dean slips his hand between them to cup Sam’s balls, drawing another long groan out of him.

“Fuck, Dean.” Sam presses his forehead into Dean's shirt, and humps back against his hand. “I'm so sorry. It didn't work. God, nothing worked.”

His voice is a stream of broken apologies and Dean is afraid it might break him as well.

“Don't say that, Sammy.”

Dean kisses along the wet hairline that frames Sam's face before nosing in along his neck. The clean smell of that cheap soap remind him of other showers in other motels, when he would run a slick hand over his cock before pushing inside Sam.

He drops to his knees so quickly that Sam stumbles forward, and Dean pushes his hips back against the counter.

The new ink is beautiful, and Dean thinks he can feel whatever energy the symbols have under his palm. That Sam would try to tap into his powers again, to scrape out that barrel of crap just to find him-

“You should know better,” he growls as he places his lips against the symbol, and Sam shudders as Dean draws his tongue across the skin. Sam’s cock is only half full where it lays against his naked thigh and suddenly that is unacceptable. Dean wraps his mouth around the tip as he holds him and slides the shaft along his tongue until his nose and throat are filled with nothing but Sam.

Sam lets his thighs fall apart, and Dean runs his hands along the smooth muscle there. He flashes back on Benny and Purgatory, but shoves those memories deep - _I did what I had to do to get back. Doesn't mean anything_. He tries to remember when he and Sam did this last. Was it the night before facing off with Dick? The week before?

He trails his thumbs up the skin on the inside of those hairless thighs as he sucks and smiles around Sam's cock at the shiver he gets in response.

Sam begins a quiet chant of _Dean_ , mixed with something else that Dean can't quite understand. Sam's hands flutter around his head, touching lightly before taking off, as his cock slides in and out of Dean’s wet mouth. The noises Sam makes are choked and have Dean struggling to unzip his jeans with one hand to stroke his own dick.

“Dean, wait--” Sam's fingers finally settle on Dean's shoulders, squeezing sharply, and Dean stands up, cupping Sam's face in his hands before kissing him.

“Been waiting long enough.”

“I couldn't make it work.” Sam whispers back against his lips. “I couldn't find you.”

Dean spins him around once more to face the mirror, placing Sam’s palms flat against the glass. His hand follows up the long line of Sam's spine and his brother stretches out his back at the touch. Sam is beautiful when he breaks apart. The tears and the shudders speak to the part of Dean that survived Purgatory, hard as flint and ready to hunt.

Sam would have survived there too. The guy who beat Lucifer and lived through the last two years of hallucinating and grief has some steel inside him, even if it’s hidden under layers of guilt.

Resting his hand on Sam's hip, Dean reaches for the lube in his kit on the counter, popping the top with one hand and drizzling it cold over Sam. There's a sharp gasp as the clear liquid runs over Sam's ass and Dean pets his flank.

“Shhh, I'll take care of you.”

When the first slick finger sinks in, it is tight. Satisfaction sits warm in his chest at the thought of what that girl couldn't give Sam. He fucks it in and out slowly, listening to gasps that Sam makes. Sam widens his stance when a second finger is added and squirms against the cabinet. Dean runs his other hand through the trail of lube that has started to run down Sam's ass to dribble between his thighs, and uses it to wet his dick.

He knows when he's hit the right spot with his fingers when Sam goes up on his toes, muscles in his ass and thighs clenching tight.

“Dean,” he shouts as a third finger is added, and Dean massages the tight rim that grips and holds them inside with his thumb. Sam is bucking back against him, trying to get Dean to move as his fingers press white against the mirror. “Fuck, I'm close, please, please, De.”

He lays across Sam's back and twists his head for a kiss as he pushes down on his prostate. Sam's whine travels directly to Deans lips and he is greedy to swallow down the sound.

Slick fingers are removed and Dean lines up and pushes inside, inch by slow inch. The way Sam’s hole wraps around his cock is the first thing that makes him feel normal since he's been topside. As he starts to pump his hips, he wraps his arms around Sam's chest and pulls him up off the counter and back even deeper on his cock, with Sam's weight anchoring both of them to the floor. He rubs and plucks at Sam’s nipples and watches in the mirror as they tighten into small pink buds. The angle is perfect, with Dean thrusting from beneath and Sam grasping at the counter's edge, sitting heavy and impaled on Dean's dick.

Sam looks dazed as Dean continues to fuck him. His hair, too long and wet from the shower, is starting to dry into soft curls around his face, and Dean pushes it out of his eyes.

“I'm right here. We’re right here.”

When Dean comes, it whites out his vision at the edges and he falls forward against Sam's back. He can feel Sam working through his own orgasm and see where it shoots all over the sink.

Sam's head hangs down and Dean kisses the spot between his shoulder blades.

“It's okay, Sammy. Doesn't matter what happened before. What matters is us, right now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always welcome. [Here is the tumblr link.](http://wetsammywinchester.tumblr.com/post/164971585132/marks)


End file.
